


Lost In Translation

by spacemonkey



Category: U2
Genre: Banter, Bono is a Little Shit, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-04-27 09:04:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14422068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacemonkey/pseuds/spacemonkey
Summary: Bono has a secret. Edge is determined to make him talk. And moan. And fall to pieces.Set during ZooTv, because I am predictable.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys!
> 
> So this is part one of my sex and banter fic....I was going to just post it as a one shot but what I've currently got is almost 12000 words and there's still an entire act and more banter to come soooooooooooo....two chapters is probably the best idea. And yeah, this is porn. And I am not sorry. I hope you all enjoy the SEXXIN'. I don't know when I'll get the second chapter up, I would hope later this week or next, but it shant be that long because it is pretty close to being complete, so we'll see :D And the title . . . well, I'll explain that in the second chapter ;) LOVE LOVE

There had been something plaguing Bono for a few days now, a thought that he clearly wanted to voice yet didn’t. It was there when he looked at Edge during those little moments of quiet, just the two of them breathing together before they were forced back out into the storm. A curious look, a teasing smile _._ “Edge,” he started more than once, before shaking his head with a sigh that was bordering on theatrical. “No, never mind.”

“What is it?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Tell me.”

“Seriously, it’s nothing,” Bono would insist, and then it was straight out into the noise.

There was only so much that Edge could take. Only so long that he could go without knowing what was rolling around in that frenetic mind of Bono’s. It had to do with sex, he was sure of it. He knew Bono enough to realize that much. And he knew Bono enough to realize when he was intentionally dangling something that he wanted Edge to try and grasp onto—and he was trying, trying and failing. It could only be sex. That look, and that smile? Sex. And not just regular sex. They knew regular sex, and they knew how to push well past the vanilla and head straight on into something a little more . . . obscene.

“I have an idea,” was a sentence that had taken a different turn in the bedroom. It had become so familiar behind closed doors, in fact, that any mention of the word _idea_ in normal life forced Edge’s thoughts firmly south where they stayed until he and Bono could come together, Bono smirking like he knew as Edge chewed him out, saying, “You bastard, you and your fucking poker face, how can you stay so calm? I know you were thinking the same thing. I know it.”

“I was.” A whisper in his ear. “It’s all I can think about sometimes.”

No, it definitely was not just regular sex. That look, and that smile? It had to be something that they’d never done before. He had to know. He had to figure out a way to make Bono talk.

How hard could it be? The art of shutting up was a concept that Bono had never quite been able to relate to. And ninety-nine point nine percent of the time Edge loved that little character flaw of his, he really did. Especially when Bono had a secret that he was determined not to spill, that usually tumbled out of him after only a bit of prompting. He just couldn’t help himself sometimes.

He would talk. All it would take was a little bit of pressure. Edge was sure of it. He would find out, and soon. He had to, because if he didn’t . . .

Well, there was only so much that he could take before he started to go a little crazy. It was just the effect that Bono had on him, apparently. It was all Bono. Wasn’t it? Yes. It had to be. Once upon a time, Edge had been close to normal.

At least, that’s what he liked to tell himself whenever his life turned upside down.

 

* * *

 

The storm was over, the excuses offered to those who cared enough to protest, who insisted on laying on the guilt trip. “Can’t you at least make an appearance?” they had said as though they were in the middle of a familiar scene in a familiar play. “People expect to see you! The party is for you, after all.” And of course the _you_ was Bono in this scenario. It always was, even if the invitation showed four names and four plus ones. Edge had accepted early on that most things in their world revolved around Bono. He had preferred it that way. And then he had changed his own life to fit in with the status quo. There was really nowhere else he would rather be on God’s green Earth.

If he had his way, he would spend the rest of his life revolving around Bono.

“Another night,” Bono had sworn to those who cared enough to protest. “Any other night, you know I’m good for it.”

“He needs his beauty sleep,” Edge had cut in, like his opinion mattered. “We’re not gonna sell tickets if Bono is out there looking like the Crypt keeper.”

“It’s gotten us this far in life,” Larry had piped up.

There had been more apologies, more excuses, a dirty look thrown Larry’s way, and then out the door they had gone and into silence, the road thrumming beneath the car. The tension thrumming between them. That look. Edge had to know.

In the elevator they were joined by a family of four, a little blonde girl smiling up at Bono, him smiling down, Edge staring at him in a way that he hoped looked brotherly. It was anything but. If the family hadn’t been there . . . well, he wasn’t sure what he would have done. “Bye, sweetheart,” Bono said, waving as he left the elevator. “Cute kid, wasn’t she, The Edge?”

“Sure, I guess.”

“Sure, I guess?” Bono slowly parroted back, the smile on his face halfway to knowing. “You didn’t even notice her, did you?”

“You should know the answer to that question by now.” Edge gripped his arm and leaned in close. “When I’m with you,” he whispered, “you’re all I ever see.”

“I know.” That look. It forced all logic and any cleverness from Edge’s brain. “I know.”

A misplaced key card. Bono laughing. A found key card. Had there been a time when Edge could think in full sentences? He could only try. Bono wasn’t laughing anymore.

They stepped inside, the door swinging shut, the darkness enveloping them. Edge pressed Bono up against the wall before he could reach for the light switch, the skin of his neck tasting like the memory of a successful show. “Tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

“You know what.” Edge outlined the shell of Bono’s ear with his tongue before pausing to whisper, “Whatever has been going on in that head of yours. Tell me.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

The lights flickered on, and Bono raised an eyebrow, his hand still against the switch. “Maybe I don’t want to?”

“Why?” Edge stared at him. “Are you trying to drive me crazy?”

Bono shrugged. “Maybe I am.”

“Well, you’re not succeeding.” It was a lie, and they both knew it, but before Bono could throw out some quip Edge found a way to distract him. Those leather pants made for an easy slide against his hip, his thigh, his arse, and then straight on back to the front. Edge kept his palm flat until Bono bit his lip, his expression changing when the fingers curled against his crotch. “You know how this works. I can only give you what you want once you stop teasing me and let me know exactly what it is, so why don’t we just cut the bullshit and get right to it? Tell me, and I’ll make it happen.”

 “Maybe.” That sigh of Bono’s deserved an Oscar just for existing. “Maybe after.”

“After? What comes before?”

That smirk. It was enough to turn Edge into butter, to drag his thoughts straight on down into the gutter. Bono’s arms came up and around his shoulders, his breath warm against Edge’s cheek as he said, “You tell me. It’s your lead.”

Was it? Edge hadn’t realized. There hadn’t really been a plan in place, just a single thought of stumbling in and seeing where the night took them. But apparently it was his lead. Not that that meant anything in the grand scheme of things. Even when Bono insisted that his control had been relinquished, he still managed to do a significant amount of backseat driving. Edge never minded much, though. Not even now. Especially not now. The night had been placed in his hands by Bono. It was a gesture that screamed control.

“Got any ideas, Edge?” Bono’s grin had turned wicked fast.

“Too many to count.”

“You need to make a decision.” His lips found Edge’s jaw, his right hand trailing down between them. “Quickly now.”

It was hard, and getting harder with each second that passed. There were so many ideas running through Edge’s mind, all the different ways in which he wanted Bono to be, splintered with memories of how it had all happened in the past. Bono’s fingers were at his belt, fiddling with the buckle one-handed, slowly drawing the leather out and then pulling, sliding it free from the loops in his pants. It fell to the floor, where it was quickly forgotten. “Do you want to fuck me?”

“I thought I had the lead.”

“You do,” Bono insisted as he dragged Edge’s zipper down. “I’m just here to support you in your endeavour.”

“Is that what this is? Support?”

“The greatest men in the world all had someone in their ear, whispering suggestions to help them succeed.” His hand slipped inside Edge’s underwear. “Every. Last. One of them.”

Edge swallowed hard. All those half-ideas of his just stumbled away. There was nothing left, nothing but the feel of Bono’s hand against his cock, stroking slowly at first before picking up the pace, his eyes dark as he watched Edge’s face, searching for that change of expression that always made him go a little wild. Edge had never been able to figure out what that expression was. He’d watched himself, watched them together in the mirror, looking for it, but when push came to shove it was always Bono that held his attention during those crucial moments.

He would likely never know. But it must have crossed his face after that second moan, because that was when Bono pressed in closer, his breath shuddering in Edge’s ear, his body starting to pulse. “Edge—”

“Tell me,” Edge blurted out. Bono’s hand stopped, his eyes narrowed, but he couldn’t fight the smile that appeared as he leaned in to brush his lips against Edge’s cheek.

“After, I said. And only if I want to.” His hand slipped from Edge’s underwear, and it was a touch that would have been missed had Edge not been drawn to distraction elsewhere. That look, that mouth . . .

It hit him swiftly like a brick to the face, the way in which he wanted, no, _needed_ their night to play out.

“You need to shower before anything happens.”

Realization hit Bono fast, his gaze flooding with warmth and need. It was exactly what Edge liked to see. “You don’t like me like this?”

“I like you however you come. I love when you’re all dirty like you are now. All sweaty.”

“But . . .”

“But,” Edge confirmed. “I want you clean tonight. I want you so clean—”

“Dirty clean.” Bono nodded like what he’d just said made perfect sense. His fingers played with Edge’s hair as he thought it over, as though there was something _to_ think over, and when their eyes met Edge turned weak so quickly that it was almost pathetic. He leaned in only to have Bono pull back, smiling like he had a right to do so.

“Don’t,” Edge warned.

“Why?”

“You know why.”

Bono rumbled out a laugh. “You say you don’t like it, but I know you’re a fuckin’ liar.” He leaned in, still smiling, drawing back again when Edge went to close the distance between them. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. It should have pissed him off. Somehow, Edge found himself just rolling his eyes, shaking his head until Bono stopped him with a steady palm. His thumb stroked the skin beneath Edge’s left eye, his mouth curving into something that was south of a smile, and when he leaned back in Edge didn’t dare make a move.

He just stood there, his breath rushing out of his nose, fingers clutching against shiny black leather, as Bono brushed a kiss against his mouth. He parted his lips only when Bono forced them open, the tip of his tongue dragging along Edge’s upper lip before briefly slipping into his mouth. “You love when I’m a tease,” Bono breathed.

Edge shook his head once more, yet he couldn’t argue against something that was mostly the truth. “Go have a shower,” he said instead before pulling Bono closer still.

“I’m trying. I’m starting to think that you don’t want me to go.”

“I do. It’s just hard—”

“Oh, I know it is. I can feel it.” His mouth, his tongue. Edge wanted to make it count. He kissed Bono in a way that he hoped left a lasting impression, that made Bono gasp as he pulled away. “Right here against the wall, Edge. We could make it work. We’ve done it before.”

“Not tonight.”

“Then let me go have a damn shower.”

“Alright.” Edge didn’t move.

Bono rolled his eyes before mimicking Edge with a snarky, “Alright.” One final kiss, and then he was pushing Edge out of the way. “Anyone would think you had a problem.”

“I do.”

“Oh yeah? Well, I’d hate to break it to you, but there’s no rehabilitation centre out there that can help with addictions to this,” Bono said as he walked backwards, gesturing to himself. “Not yet, anyway. Give it time.”

“Who says I want to be cured? Do you want me to be cured?”

Bono winked. “Not in a million years.” And then he was gone, slipping away into the bathroom but leaving the door open in case . . . just in case. It was an effort to keep from following him, and when Edge walked past that open door he couldn’t stop from looking inside, watching as Bono slipped out of his clothes, his back to Edge, his movements indicating that he knew he was on show. “Don’t even think about coming in here and joining me, Edge,” he said just before stepping beneath the water, his tone betraying his words completely.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Anticipation is the key, isn’t that what you always say?”

“I can’t hear you over the water,” Bono called, before immediately adding, “I say a lot of things, who the fuck could know what I’m even talking about half the time.”

Edge just laughed before dragging himself away. It was a struggle, but he managed. They had the rest of the night and straight on into morning ahead of them. It would make for a fun time if he jumped into the shower—it always did—but it would be over far too quickly, and what then? Just go to sleep? It felt like such a waste, when nights like this were so hard to come by. No, he had to make it last. No matter what his cock was telling him, demanding of him, begging him to do. Anticipation was the key. It made everything far more interesting.

He didn’t have long to prepare. On a normal day Bono could use up half the world’s water supply while taking a shower, but when faced with a promise of sex afterwards . . . no, Edge didn’t have long at all. Not that there was much that he had to do.

His pants were already hanging open, his belt a lost cause. There were very few steps more that he had to take. Off came his shoes and then his socks, kicked into the corner and joined by his shirt, his pants, his underwear. And after a hurried search through his suitcase, throwing items of clothing here and there, he emerged victorious, clutching the tube of lubricant as he took those five steps back to the bed. He sat on the edge and then thought better of it, stretching out against the pillow in a way that didn’t fit the image in his mind either. He’d never done seductive posing well. They both knew it. There was really no way that he could think to arrange himself that wouldn’t make Bono bite back a laugh when he walked out of the bathroom, and Edge didn’t feel like it was a night for laughter. No, he had big plans. Big, big plans.

In the end he just stood there by the foot of the bed, the lubricant left in easy reach on the covers, stroking his cock at a leisurely pace as he waited for Bono to emerge. He didn’t have to wait long, yet still it felt close to an eternity before he heard the water shut off. From where he was standing he could easily see through that open door. It was the prime position. To think that he’d had a half-cocked notion of lounging against the bed like an absolute idiot.

He watched as Bono stepped out of the shower, as Bono pointedly ignored him while reaching for a towel, which he used only to rub away some of the water from his hair. The rest of him he left wet, the towel he tossed into the bathtub, still dripping as he stepped out onto the carpet. His chest hair was glistening, little beads trickling down his skin, and the look on his face told Edge that he knew exactly how he looked. “I’m clean,” he said with a shrug. “Do what you want with me.”

“Come here.”

Bono came. He was almost smiling, the brightness of his eyes betraying his easy demeanour. _Fuck me up_ , those eyes were saying. _Take me to pieces_. And Edge intended to. They had the rest of the night and straight on into morning. More than enough time to take Bono to pieces, maybe even enough to put him back together before tearing it down one more time. And in between, perhaps he would find out. Perhaps Bono would tell him. Perhaps they would even be able to do it tonight, whatever it was that had been on Bono’s mind those past few days, the sex thing that definitely was not something they had done before. They had time.

“You’re such a tart,” Edge said when they were chest to chest. “You didn’t even dry yourself.”

“I couldn’t wait. If that makes me a tart, then I’m a tart. That’s how you like me to be though, isn’t it?”

Edge couldn’t lie. Not with Bono so close to him, damp against his skin, his fingers trailing down Edge’s lower back. So he didn’t say anything. There wasn’t really a thing that needed to be said. He just lifted his hand to brush the hair back from Bono’s face, those wet strands slipping through his fingers like silk. Before he could repeat the motion—and he wanted to, he would happily have done it again and again—Bono caught his wrist, holding his hand there as they stared at each other. It was a look that pulsed through Edge, that made him want to move, to hurry it all up and get where they were supposed to be. It was his lead, after all. He could easily force them forward, but he didn’t.

Instead, he just stood there, staring as Bono turned his head a little, his gaze steady, his lips warm. He kissed Edge’s wrist, his palm, dragging until the wet heat of his mouth enveloped Edge’s first two fingers to lightly suck against, his tongue curling.

“Tell me.”

Bono shook his head, his mouth straying. “Show me,” he murmured. “What do you want to do to me? Show me, love.”

“On your stomach.”

Edge followed him down onto the bed, crowding him as he shuffled into place. Personal space seemed like an abstract concept that Edge just couldn’t relate to. Not when he had Bono like this. No, he had to touch, to feel, keep them skin to skin as much as possible, and it didn’t matter that his hovering made Bono laugh, nor did it matter that that laugh sounded a little long-suffering. After all this time, Bono had to know Edge’s number. Surely he understood . . .

It wasn’t an obsession. But it was close enough. Was it possible to become so reliant on another human being? Edge wasn’t sure. An academic study was clearly needed to find out. Change their names, become different people once again, this time in the name of science. They could do it, the two of them could become test subjects on the matter without the general public finding out about them. And then Edge would know. He could have at least one of his questions answered. All that would be left was that first problem. There was only so many times that he could say _tell me_ before it started sounding a lot like desperation.

“ _Edge_.”

“Sorry.” Obviously, there was something wrong with him. People had always hinted at it, and they must have been right, because there he was with Bono between his thighs, warm Bono, damp Bono, _horny_ Bono, yet somehow he was still drifting away to think about scientific shit.

“Look, do you want to do this or not? I mean, I’m not in a rush here, but I’m going to be soon if you don’t fucking move it already. I could be watching Letterman right now, you know. I could be having my own fun while watching Letterman.”

“Is that what you want to do? _Ooh_ , is that what you’re into? Is it Letterman that gets you hot under the collar, or Paul Shaffer?”

Bono wheezed out a laugh. “Fucking hell, don’t—”

“It’s the way that Paul laughs, isn’t it? So that’s what you’re doing when you don’t answer my calls. I mean, I usually gather that you’re too busy playing with yourself, but—”

“Stop,” Bono insisted. “Shut the fuck up before I lose my erection.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that.”

“No, we wouldn’t. So get to it, already.” He wriggled his arse between Edge’s thighs. “Enough talking, use that mouth of yours to do some good for a change.”

“I do plenty of good. I take care of you, don’t I?”

“Mmmm.”

“I do.” The side of Bono’s neck was still damp against Edge’s lips. “I do. You love it when I do.” His back was starting to dry. The remnants of the concert had been completely washed away. There was no sweat, no effort, just the taste of clean skin. Only Bono. It was exactly how Edge wanted him. “Tell me.”

“No.”

Edge rubbed his cheek against Bono’s lower back. “Fine. Then tell me that you love it.”

“You know I do.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

The air rushed from Bono’s lungs when Edge’s mouth found the skin where his cheek had just been. It was a sound that he had been waiting to hear. A sign, no, the _best_ sign to show exactly where Bono was at on a mental front. More than a sigh, less than a gasp, it was simply _I need this, I need you now_. And when Edge pressed his lips against the swell of Bono’s arse, it did turn into a gasp, one that coursed through him in waves.

“Tell me,” Edge murmured as he spread Bono’s legs further, leaving his right hand to linger between them. All it took was one finger gently pressed against his perineum to make Bono shudder against the sheets.

 “I love—everything that you—” He cut himself off with a strangled laugh. “This . . . this.”

“Not just this.”

“No.” His face briefly disappeared as he buried it into the bed, the laughter fading away. “No, not just . . . Edge, come _on_.”

Edge wasn’t going to be pressured that easily. He knew desperation. He was feeling it too. There was almost nothing more on Earth that he wanted to do more than make Bono squirm. And he was so close, one finger sliding slowly back and forth against the most sensitive of areas, the opposite four fingers digging into the generous flesh of Bono’s arse, spreading him open, a picture-perfect moment if Edge had ever seen one. They were so fucking close, the want skittering up and down his spine to rest deep inside of him, but first he had to tell Bono exactly what was on his mind.  

“I know you want me to play along with your little game like I always do—even if it drives me mad. But you should know by now that I have ways of making you talk. I know your pressure points. I know how to make you show your hand.”

“Yeah? Think you’re clever?” Bono asked, the words confident, his shaky voice anything but.

Edge didn’t bother coming up with a smart response. He simply paused for effect, maintaining that slow one-fingered slide, before unleashing a tactic that had worked wonders for him in the past. “Look at you, B. I wish you could see what I see. Do you know what it does to me? Do you know how much I think about you when I’m alone? About _this_? You drive me crazy sometimes, you know, but seeing you like this makes it all worthwhile. And you know that I would do anything if it were to allow me a lifetime of moments like this.” He pressed an open-mouthed kiss against pink skin before mumbling, “I’d do anything for you.”

A beat. He didn’t have to glance up to know that Bono was looking back at him. “I know you would.”

The tremble in his voice almost made Edge fucking lose it. Fuck the talking, fuck getting to the bottom of whatever was plaguing Bono, that tremble was just too much. He wanted to hear it again and again, and he knew how to make it happen.

There was more power in Edge’s mouth than the world would ever know. It was all he needed to make Bono fall to pieces.

But Edge had said what he’d said for a reason, and he was nothing if not a quitter, as much as it pained him to not immediately give in and start making Bono moan. “Anything you want, anything you need from me, I’ll do it. And who knows? If you tell me what you’ve been thinking about, I might just make your night.”

“You already are.”

“I could make it twice, then.”

“Mmmm, feeling ambitious, are we?” Bono’s laughter shuddered through his body in a way that was all-too-familiar. It was part amusement, part _not on your life, mister_ , with a generous helping of want and need on the side, threatening to take over completely. “I’m still not going to tell you.”

He was such a little shit. Edge drew back that one finger of his. “Seriously? That did nothing for you?”

“Did you really just stop what you were doing?”

“I sure did.”

Bono pulled himself up just far enough to turn and level Edge with a stare that was more bedroom eyes than anything. “Torture, Edge? Really? In this bedroom? I’m tempted to put in a formal complaint about you.”

“To who? Paul?”

“Maybe.”

“Adam?”

“More likely.”

“I’ll stop torturing you if you at least tell me my sweet talk did something for you.”

The smile was slow to spread across Bono’s face, although he was quick to try and hide it by slumping back down against the bed. “Sweet talk,” he repeated. “That’s adorable, love.”

“I’m leaving.”

His thighs tightened against Edge. “Oh, no you don’t. Not on your fuckin’ life,” Bono said, before giving in almost immediately. “Listen . . . it did plenty for me. More than plenty—I wish I could hear you speak those exact words in my ear during those nights when fate has kept us apart and left me alone in my bed. That’s when I need them the most.”

Edge paused, if only to keep all those words from rupturing straight from his chest once again, those words and so many more like them—better than them, sweeter and lovelier and just as real. “You don’t have to be alone on those nights,” he said instead. “I would never say no if you called.”

“I know, but it’s better if we are apart sometimes, I think. Makes everything a bit more . . . you know, when we do find those precious few hours alone together.”

“I suppose.”

“But that’s not the point I’m trying to make. Well, I mean, in a way it is. But . . .” Bono trailed off into a breathy little chuckle before glancing back briefly at Edge. “It did plenty for me, Edge, and maybe I might have considered for one tiny moment of weakness just giving in to you, but then I thought, no, why give in so easily when there is more fun to be had? After all, anticipation is the key, isn’t that what I always say?”

To think, Edge had been considering showering him with nothing but love and affection only seconds beforehand. “I really wish you’d come up with some new fucking sayings.”

 “Oh, but why would I when they’ve worked for me so well in the past?”

Sometimes, he was far too quick for his own good. “Fine. But I’ll get it out of you soon.”

“I don’t doubt it. I don’t doubt that you’ll sweet talk me some more before I finally feel sorry for you and give in.”

It was pretty much a guarantee, but rewarding him by admitting that would just lead to a Bono far more self-satisfied than he already was—which was just asking for trouble. Instead, Edge said, “You’ll talk,” and it came out sounding far smoother than it felt on the inside.

Really, he was close to screaming, for any number of reasons. He wanted to shout _tell me, damnit, tell me before I implode!_ He wanted to press in before another word was spoken, until Bono was a shaking mess beneath him. He wanted to shake Bono himself, just a little. He wanted to do away with it all and fuck Bono right into the mattress. And then there were all the other options that sprung to mind during the brief and pleased silence that followed, ideas that Edge would be more than happy to explore over and over again until they were both fucked-out and reduced to little more than gasping messes. Thankfully, he’d been given the chance to do some exploring.

Bono might not have been ready to talk, but he still looked plenty ready to fall to pieces.

 “So—”

“Shhhh,” Edge let out before pressing in.

He teased Bono at first with a gentle tongue, biting back the smile that threatened to emerge when he heard a hiss of breath cut through the quiet of the room. It took him right back to any other time that they had done this, those nights and those mornings and once even just before a show, the door locked, Bono fresh for a New York minute, bent over a chair, any nervous jitters diminishing as Edge turned his legs to jelly, and that voice of his, a cry that sounded out even after being repeatedly shushed. How the hell had Edge managed through life for all those years at Bono’s side without the knowledge of what he looked and sounded like while coming undone in such a way?

There was no other act that could leave him so exposed, nothing else that could make him tremble like he did, like he was. His thighs, his voice, _Edge, Edge._ His moan. That _sound_.

It was that first moan that made Edge pull back, if only because he wanted to see. That slick hole, shining with spit, contracting against the warm breath that Edge was blowing against it. Trembling. It was a sight that he never got tired of seeing, and this time around it brought thoughts to his mind that were so obscene they surprised even him, a man who specialised in obscene. Or so he thought.

“Oh, fuck. Edge?”

Did Bono _seriously_ want to have a conversation now? What did that mean? If he currently had enough brain cells to bump together and form a thought . . . was Edge not working the magic like he usually could? Was that it? It wouldn’t do. It just wouldn’t. He had to try harder. Give it all he had, even if it meant his tongue would be laid up for days.

“Edge?”

A response was needed before anything else happened. He didn’t want to get kicked. Not again. “Yeah, baby?” he asked before pressing back in, open mouthed, to kiss, to suck, to make Bono forget about whatever it was that had graced his mind at a time when it really shouldn’t have.

And it seemed to work.

All that Edge got in return were the type of breathy moans that he often found himself craving to hear at the most inappropriate times. He glanced up briefly to find Bono clutching at the sheets. It was a sight that always made Edge feel like the most powerful man on Earth for that one brief and shining moment. Pleased, he flicked his tongue then turned his head to nip lightly against skin that could handle it, before using both hands to spread Bono open further, to allow for a harder tongue, to make him cry out and swear, his voice like a groan as he said, “Fuck, oh—oh _shit_.”

“Mmmm,” Edge responded, because it was important to do so when such positive feedback was being offered, just as it was important to bask in that wonderful feeling that always followed. So he did, feeling pretty happy with himself and his efforts as he drew back long enough to drink in the sight in front of him. _I did that,_ he thought. _I made him like that and I can do so much better—or so much worse, depending how I approach the situation._

And then he was right back into it, with a harder tongue and a curious finger, rediscovering Bono’s perineum, brushing against his balls, forcing his hips to move, to thrust against the bed. Searching for that friction that he desperately needed, a sensation coursing through him from both sides.

“ _Edge_.” Frustration. Edge recognized it clearly. They had been there so many times before. It wouldn’t be long now. Enough friction, enough pressure, a slide of a finger inside of him, and Bono would be melting into the bed. “I want . . . shit . . . wait, I want . . .”

_Not yet_ , Edge thought. Why give out what was wanted when he could make it that much sweeter and turn it into something that was needed? He pushed ahead urgently, a wet mouth and a hard tongue that opened Bono up, again and again, until a sound was forced from him that made Edge’s toes curl. He wasn’t surprised when Bono’s next breath came out close to a sob, nor when the babbling started. “I can’t, I-I can’t like this, I want— _fuck_ , Edge, oh . . . no, _no_ , I need—”

 “Okay, okay. Roll over.” Reluctantly Edge pulled away, lifting his leg to give Bono enough room to move. “I’ve got you, okay?” He reached for the lube. “Hands where I can see them. It’s my lead, remember?”

He didn’t bother starting off with only one finger. They were both well past the stage of easing in gently. His left hand he kept pressed against Bono’s stomach, waiting for the muscle flex that he knew was inevitable. And it happened exactly when Edge expected it would, when those two slick fingers on his right hand slipped inside of Bono and bumped against his prostate in that perfect way. An involuntary roll of his stomach muscles, a stuttered gasp—again, it was like reading from a script. Or watching a movie that he’d seen enough times to mouth along the words as they were being spoken, that he was glad to watch until the tape wore out, because why would he ever want to look at anything else? It was mad to even suggest otherwise.

“You are so fucking gorgeous,” he said only when he couldn’t bite the words back a moment longer.

Bono was too far gone to even smile. He just shook his head in response, side to side, close to frantic, his mouth open and moaning, hips rolling in time with Edge’s hand, grasping the sheets as he clenched against the fingers moving inside of him. It was almost too much to bear. The thoughts that were going through Edge’s mind, the naughty, naughty thoughts . . .

“Imagine if the world could see you now,” Edge murmured. “Imagine if they knew just how fucking dirty you could be.” And that was all it took. A few simple words, and Bono’s body begun shuddering and didn’t stop. His orgasm rolled through him in waves, streaking come against his stomach, as he groaned and shook, crying out when Edge took his cock in hand and started to stroke, to drag out the last of it until those naughty, naughty thoughts became completely overbearing.

The right thing to do would have been allowing Bono time to recover before making that next move. But Edge had forgotten how to be a gentleman the second the door had closed behind them. He couldn’t wait. There was no fucking way, he had to move, and he had to do it fast before he completely lost his shit.

He was climbing up to settle against that heaving chest before he knew it, his hand unsteady, fingers gripping the back of Bono’s neck to guide a mouth that didn’t need guidance straight towards his cock. It was an awkward position, one that couldn’t have been comfortable for Bono, yet he didn’t seem to care.

But it wasn’t a surprise when he rolled them both to relieve the strain on his neck—a fantastic idea, Edge realized, as he watched his cock disappear further into Bono’s mouth. He really was a fucking genius. It made for a far easier slide, his fingers digging into Edge’s thigh.  He was _incredible_. His mouth, his tongue, his moan. Vibrating through them both, turning Edge’s stomach inside out.

There were words bubbling inside his brain, cliché sentences that always made him laugh whenever he heard them in porn movies. _Take it, take it all_ , those actors would say and Edge would shake his head, because who said that in real life? But he wanted to now. And he almost did. It didn’t need to be said though.

“Yeah,” he simply let out in place of those ridiculous words. _You like that_? No, he couldn’t. There would only be laughter when Bono thought of it later. _You want me to fuck your mouth hard?_ Edge wanted to. _What do you want me to do?_ God, he would do anything that Bono asked. Anything to make the feeling last. Whatever it was, whatever it was. _Tell me_. Those thoughts of Edge’s refused to focus. There was Bono, tarting through his mind in a dozen different and glorious ways all rolled into one. There was Bono, asking for it, begging for it, telling Edge so much without saying a thing, kneeling for it, living for it as he glanced up with a look that said _take me to pieces._

There was Bono now, taking it as Edge fucked his mouth. His fingers, his tongue, him, deeper, _him_. Edge had him, they were there, Edge was right there, deep, deeper still, snapping his hips, damp hair between his fingers, his mind flatlining, a shock of lightning through his body. That white heat was all he could see and feel, and he was gasping for it, desperate to hold on to it, but it could never have been a lingering sensation, not today.

It was quick, and then it was over, leaving them both searching for a way to recover.

“Jesus,” Edge uttered. “Holy shit.” All the energy had left his body. He wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to move again. And he didn’t want to. Not when Bono still had him right there, mouthing wet kisses against the length of his cock, his touch gentle, eyes dark as they trailed up to watch Edge’s reaction. “You’re so fucking sexy, you know that, right? I could live in that mouth of yours.”

Bono huffed out a laugh before saying, “Now there’s a quote that deserves to be printed on the front cover of _Rolling Stone_ magazine.”

Eventually Edge had to move. He missed the connection, the face to face interlude that usually happened in the aftermath. He needed to be right there to properly see Bono smile. And it was worth it when he did finally slide down the bed. That smile, that look, those warm lips that found Edge’s palm when he reached out to brush away a lock of hair before settling his hand against the bed between them. “Alright?”

“Alright,” Bono confirmed. “Better than alright, in fact. Good.”

“Just good? Not great?”

“Edge, you know as well as I do that the moment we stop critiquing our performances and start piling on nothing but praise is the same moment that we turn into self-important dickheads. Even if said praise is completely warranted.”

“I thought that we had turned into self-important dickheads already? Isn’t that how _Rattle and Hum_ came to be?”

“By us happily jumping up our own arses and never looking back?” Bono’s hand came down to rest against Edge’s, his fingers swirling as he thought it over. “Now that you mention it, I think you’re right.”

“No thinking about it, I _am_ right.”

“You are,” Bono agreed with a leer. “In that case, consider as much praise as you could possibly imagine currently being on offer without me actually listing each and every positive word in the English language from a to z. I mean, we do have the time for me to do that tonight and it would be great for your ego if I were to lay it all out the way that you truly deserve, but Edge, I just don’t think I have enough brain cells firing on all cylinders right now to do such a thing, you know? And it’s your fault that I’m in such a state, so don’t give me that look.”

“You don’t have enough working brain cells to come up with a few positive words beyond _good_ and _great_ , yet you managed to come up with that convoluted monologue?”

“Convoluted? How—”

“I speak only the truth, B,” Edge cut in. “Don’t try and fight me on this, because you know you won’t win.”

“I always win.”

“No, I just let you think that you’ve won.”

“Still a win.”

“Is it?”

“Isn’t it?”

“Are you going to tell me now?”

“After you insulted me?” Bono exclaimed. “You must be out of your fucking mind.”

“Oh, come on, that wasn’t an insult. And even if it was, I thought you had thicker skin than that. Is one little insult really enough for you to forget the reason why you were looking to heap on the praise in the first place?”

There was an extended pause as Bono pretended to contemplate, hiding his smile all the while, even as he rolled their fingers together. “It’s honestly incredible, Edge,” he said finally. “You would think I’d be utterly pliable in the aftermath of sex, and yet time and time again I find myself in a mood that can only be described as catty.”

“So that’s how it’s going to be then.”

“Looks that way.”

“Hmm,” Edge said. “I have ways of making you talk, remember?”

“Going to sweet talk me again?”

“No, we’re well past that.”

“Going to try and force it out of me?”

“I am.”

“Torture _again_ , Edge?  I never thought you’d sink so low twice in one evening.”

“There are a lot of things that you never thought I’d do until you saw me do them.”

“And I consider myself lucky for bearing witness to all of those good things, I truly do,” Bono said, offering Edge a smile and a wink that together were charm personified. “Do your worst. I bet you don’t have the fucking stamina.”

“Maybe not,” Edge agreed before slyly adding, “Or maybe I do. There’s really only one way to find out, isn’t there?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, hi all hi!!! Here you go, have some more porn and banter, you beautiful people you, Ilu all and hope you enjoy this ridiculousness as much as I've enjoyed writing it xxx

Another city, another state, a blessed day off. Coffee with breakfast, a morning spent overthinking so many things, all in relation to one specific individual. Because it was always Bono these days that seemed to crowd Edge’s mind, often refusing to vacate it even when other thoughts were desperately required to sustain a normal and functioning life away from the bedroom. Thankfully, he had long since figured out how to get through a show on pure muscle memory, because there were some nights . . .

Well, recently it had felt like _some nights_ had turned into _most nights,_ and _sex on the brain_ had metamorphosed into something that was inching him closer and closer to an extended stay at a mental hospital. And it would be all Bono’s fault, of course, when that day finally did come. Bono, with his looks that lasted a beat too long and were filled with pure sex, and his voice that he lowered to the timbre that he knew drove Edge completely batshit in the most wonderful way, and his little secret that was definitely something new and obscene. And still a secret. Because somehow, even after days and nights of asking and begging and sweet talking, Bono’s lips remained sealed. Which was, admittedly, quite impressive, given past experiences and Bono’s usual . . . everything.

At some point during the night Edge had decided the only thing left to do was stop asking. Why this approach hadn’t occurred to him sooner was anyone’s guess—really, he was feeling like an absolute idiot for not previously considering it. It was, after all, the most logical approach. Bono was only as strong as his audience. Take the audience away and all that was left was desperation and a whole lot of _notice me, pay attention to me, I’ll give you anything you want as long as you love me_.

Edge had theorized that it would take Bono approximately twelve hours to become restless at the lack of interrogating, a day to start flailing, and thirty-six hours to give in and begin singing like a canary—and that timeframe was Edge being generous. There was also the very strong possibility of Bono collapsing completely within the span of a couple of hours, especially given how insistent Edge had been in his questioning up until now, and also taking into account Bono’s usual . . . everything. Pair that with sudden silence on one particular topic and what followed was no doubt the chance to watch it all unfold like a catastrophic yet beautiful film.

All that theorizing had taken perhaps fifteen minutes out of his night, leaving Edge to focus on what was really important, which was, of course, sex. There was little else that he could think to stage such an impressive takeover of his mind, after all. He was ready.

Oh, he was more than ready, he’d been close to jumping out of his skin since the moment he’d opened his eyes that morning. And there was a chance, just a chance that he’d spent the past few days wishing that the world could just stop for a while so that they could have those precious few hours that they needed together. Just a few hours without a single interruption. It wasn’t too much to ask, in theory, and yet . . .

The fucking life they led. Sometimes, Edge found that a small part of him wanted to bang on Bono’s door at five am and shout at him, “Why am I awake? Why the fuck do you _think_?” And that small part of Edge had been alive and well for the past twenty-four hours—longer, really, if he was feeling truthful—threatening to become the overwhelming majority. A few fitful hours of sleep had followed a night spent theorizing and deliberating and fantasising about all the ways in which they could be together, while Bono no doubt slept like a log two rooms over.

The breath against Edge’s skin. The way his name often left Bono’s lips, sounding like a benediction. His eyes, that glazed look, feverish, heated. And his mouth, or his hand, his fucking fingers slowly stroking Edge’s cock, back and forth, far steadier than the rest of him, _Edge, Edge . . ._

It was so easy to imagine. To lose himself on those nights where Edge found himself alone. It was all so fucking easy.

And now there he was. Knocking on the door of Bono’s hotel room, ready and willing to find those precious few hours together, and if anyone dared to try and interrupt, Edge had a plan. Sure, it involved unleashing a side of him that rarely reared its ugly head, but it was desperate times, and he couldn’t find it in himself to regret any such actions of his that eventuated during the next few hours. Especially not the ones that involved making Bono squirm. Just like Edge was close to doing so as he stood there, waiting.

Bono wasn’t answering. What the fuck would Edge even do if he wasn’t in? He’d been working himself up for it all goddamn morning. What else could he do?

He knocked again, and praise be to Jesus, this time Bono answered, a smile gracing his face when he saw who it was. “ _Hiii_ ,” he dragged out, leaning against the doorframe. “I was just trying to call your room.”

“I’m not there.”

Bono rolled his eyes. “Well, _obviously_.”

“Can I come in?”

“I don’t know,” Bono said as he raised a single eyebrow, “can you?”

So it was going to be one of those types of days. It wasn’t really how Edge had imagined it playing out, yet he still enjoyed the thought of it all the same. “What are you, an English teacher?”

“I don’t think they’d let someone like me teach children.” Bono let out a dramatic sigh. “They would probably be scared I’d corrupt those little minds somehow. Sex. Drugs. Rock ‘n’ Roll. Do they really belong in a classroom, The Edge?”

“You know what they would say about you.”

“What?”

“They’d say that you have the devil inside of you.”

Bono grinned. “The devil? Is that what you’re calling yourself nowadays?” He leaned away from the doorframe to whisper in Edge’s ear. “You’re all I want inside of me.”

Edge was incredibly glad to hear that. “Can I come in?”

“Say it properly now, David.”

“Excuse me, _may_ I come in?”

“The door is open, isn’t it?”

It was. There was plenty of room for Edge to pass through easily, yet he still made sure to brush up close against Bono as he walked inside. _Tell me_ , he immediately wanted to ask, but caught himself just in time, instead throwing out, “I wish that my teachers had looked like you,” his voice sounding more than a little lecherous.

“What, all of them?”

“If only.” The door shut behind them. “Although I doubt I would have gotten any work done.”

“Am I that much of a distraction?”

Edge looked him up and down, saying, “You have no idea,” as he stepped closer, until they were chest to chest, Bono smirking up at him.

“You want something from me, love?”

Edge shrugged, aiming for cool, calm and casual, although the look on Bono’s face told him he was utterly failing. Still, he continued to try, asking in a tone that always seemed to work wonders, “What do you think?” A knock came before that tone could do its trick, although Bono did start to smile as he stepped back to open the door. “Don’t answer it.” It came out sounding close to begging, but Edge didn’t have it in him to be ashamed. He was feeling needy, in more ways than one, and he was fucking proud of it.

“What if it’s important?”

“It won’t be. Leave it.”

“We can hear you, you know,” came Adam’s muffled voice through the door.

Fucking hotels. Was it really too hard to find wood thick enough to ensure the privacy that they fucking deserved? A few hours of alone time—what a fantasy that had been. They’d not even managed a few goddamn minutes.

Bono made a face. “Apparently they can hear us,” he stage-whispered. “What do you think will happen if I don’t answer? Will that be the end of U2? Is that all that it would take?”

“Yes.” Larry this time.

Edge rolled his eyes. “Open the damn door.”

Bono opened the door to reveal Larry with his arms crossed, a smile threatening to break that put-upon stony exterior, and Adam, who wasn’t even trying to hide his amusement. “Oh my god, Edge.” Bono clutched at his own chest. “Wouldya look who it is? What an unexpected surprise!”

“You’re an eejit,” Larry deadpanned.

“That may be true, but you’re still stuck with me,” Bono shot back.

“He’s right,” Adam said with a shrug. “And you can’t really complain when you’re the one who started the band.”

“Some days I regret ever doing such a thing.”

“You can’t resent me,” Bono insisted. “I helped bring you fame and fortune and everything that goes with it.”

Fantastic. This was exactly how Edge had hoped this romp would start. Clearly he’d entered the wrong door. He’d been aiming for sex; instead he’d walked into the middle of a sitcom. Fan-fucking-tastic.

“You alright, Edge?” Adam asked.

“Oh, I’m great,” Edge muttered. Two more sets of eyes turned to look at him. “I’m _fine_. What do you want?”

Larry grimaced. “Jesus. What side of the bed did you climb out of this morning?”

“He’s fine.” Bono patted Edge on the back. “He’s just grouchy because . . . oh, who could even know? He’ll get over it. Won’t you, The Edge?”

“Will I?”

Bono sucked on his teeth as he looked Edge up and down. “Well, now I’m not so sure.”

“Anyway,” Larry cut in, “we did come here to see if you two wanted to go downstairs for a drink or two, but—”

“Oh, we’d definitely be interested in doing that. Wouldn’t we, Edge?” Bono asked.

Edge paused briefly before answering, in an attempt to find that feeling of Zen that he was sorely lacking. It didn’t come to him. It wasn’t even on the horizon. “We can’t,” he said through gritted teeth. “We have that thing, remember?”

A smile ghosted across Bono’s face. “Do we now? What thing would that be?”

Edge was going to kill him. No, that was a lie. He needed Bono too much to even consider that. “You know . . .” he trailed off with a shrug. All the smarts had left his mind. There was no way that he could even begin to come up with an excuse that sounded legitimate. And he knew that Larry and Adam weren’t stupid, so why even bother trying? “The _thing_ , Bono.”

“Oh, wow.” Bono let out a laugh. “Of course, _that_ thing. I’m sorry, it must have slipped my mind.”

“Christ almighty,” Larry muttered. “I don’t think either of you could be more transparent if you tried.”

“I don’t know,” Edge retorted. “I’m pretty sure we could still manage to surprise you.”

Larry held up a hand. “Spare me. Let’s go, Adam, before Edge starts staking his claim.”

“Starts?” Adam looked back and forth between Bono and Edge, wearing his upside-down smile. “Clearly you haven’t been paying attention, Larry.”

“I don’t wanna hear it,” Larry singsonged as he walked down the hallway.

Adam sighed. “Will you be available for dinner, at least?”

“We’ll let you know,” Edge said before changing his tune almost immediately. “Actually, no. Probably not. No.”

“Well.” Adam raised his eyebrows as his gaze shifted again between them, looking like he had far more to say, yet all he managed was a simple, “Okay then.”

They watched as he followed Larry down the hallway, and, as much as Edge loved them—and he did, he really did, ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the time—he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so glad to see them go.

Bono shut the door and latched it before turning towards Edge. “That thing, huh?” His smile was teasing, his expression knowing. “Remind me once more, Edge. What thing would that be again?”

“Don’t pretend as though you don’t know.”

Bono shrugged. “I know a lot of things.” That smile turned wicked as he came closer, as he leaned in to nip at the lobe of Edge’s ear before whispering, “You want to fuck me?” His tongue teased where his teeth had just been. “Bend me over a chair?”

Edge wasn’t actually sure. He’d not arrived with a well-thought-out plan, just a notion of _things must happen and quickly before I fucking explode_. What did he want to do to Bono? So many things. But specifically? It was too hard to decide sometimes. Did he want to fuck Bono? Always. But did he have the patience for the preparation that was required? Not today. He didn’t think so anyway. “No?”

“Oh.” A beat. “Want me to suck your cock?”

Well, when didn’t Edge want that? “Maybe?”

Bono’s expression was worthy of a photograph. “You’ve not really thought this through, have you?”

“Thinking about it is all that I’ve done this morning.”

“Overthinking, you mean?” He pressed a featherlight kiss against Edge’s neck before letting his palm take over in the teasing department, starting its slow path from Edge’s chest and finishing up at his thigh, where it went back and forth, inching closer and closer to his crotch before disappearing right when things were starting to become truly interesting. “You know that overthinking can sometimes be more dangerous than not thinking at all, right?”

“Who says that?”

Bono grinned. “Me.” His lips trailed along Edge’s jaw, his tongue following that same path before slinking away.  “Do you want me to decide for you?”

It was just asking for trouble. Yet it seemed like the best idea that either of them currently had. Bono still appeared to have his wits about him, after all—mostly—whereas Edge’s had long since fled out the window and straight on through the breeze. “Yeah.”

There was a flash of victory in Bono’s smile as he leaned in, their noses bumping together, and they were a heartbeat away from what would have no doubt been a scorching kiss when he stopped and simply breathed against Edge’s lips. He smelled minty fresh and felt warm, and Edge couldn’t make the moment last. He surged forward into a kiss that was just as scorching as he’d imagined, moaning into it when Bono’s fingers came to curl against the crotch of his jeans.

One squeeze was all it took for Edge to come alive and shove him against the wall, a hand at Bono’s neck, the other clutching his shirt, kissing him in a way that started off fierce and biting before turning softer. His tongue, his teeth, gently catching Edge’s bottom lip. His breath, his hand, the reason why Edge had come. He lived for moments like these. To stay in them for as long as they possibly could would be the absolute dream, but it seemed Bono had other ideas. “I think you want my mouth,” he said, leering.

“Always.” It was the truth. Edge always wanted that, just like he always wanted to fuck Bono, just like he always wanted to kiss Bono and touch Bono and, really, the list could go on and on without an end in sight. And maybe it was a little sad—more than a little, it _was_ sad—but Edge just couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“You want to use me, don’t you?”

It was more of a suggestion than a question. _Fuck me up_ , those eyes were saying. _Take whatever you want, as long as you take me to pieces along the way_. “Always,” Edge said again, mostly to see the way in which he knew Bono would react. “But I think you want it even more than I do.”

“Maybe I do.”

“You fucking tart.”

“I am,” Bono breathed. “I am a fucking tart, aren’t I?”

There was no denying it. “Right here?”

“On the bed.”

“And what do you want from me?”

“You first.”

“But what do you—”

“Edge.” Bono shook his head. “What do I always say?”

Edge knew, yet still he said, “Everything. You’re going to have to be more specific.” It earned him a slap against his chest, but it was worth it for the smile that Bono just couldn’t seem to hold back.

“Fuck you. I could be downstairs right now throwing back a cocktail, you know.”

“I know.”

“So, tell me what I always say.”

“Stop overthinking.”

“Exactly. You first. Me? We’ll figure it out when we get there. Not everything in life needs to be micromanaged.”

“Micromanaged, you say. That’s a pretty big word, B.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Bono gave him a wink, his hand trailing down to squeeze Edge through his jeans once again. “I know how you love my form of dirty talk.”

 “I do. What other big words do you know?”

“Oh, so many, but why would you want to tire my tongue out by forcing it to wrap around all those syllables, when it could be doing so much more?”

Off came the clothes, and onto the bedroom they headed, stopping by the bathroom door and then by the bathroom door again, hands and mouths roaming, the wall not giving an inch as Edge attempted to press Bono through it. Soon enough, those fingers of Bono’s came to trail through Edge’s pubic hair at a teasing pace before finally reaching his cock and starting to stroke, even as Bono insisted, “No, I said the bed, the—”

“I’ve changed my mind, I want to fuck you. Right here.”

“No, _nooo_ , come on, the bed, Edge.” That hand against his cock refused to leave him, Bono’s fingers curling tightly, his legs staggering open like he did want it, and of course he did. He always wanted it. The line of his neck tasted faintly like salt. Even during such cooler weather Bono was still sweating a little, and why? It wasn’t just because the heater was cranked. No, it was for Edge. It was all for Edge. His hand, his mouth, as he sucked on Edge’s finger. His cock as it dragged against Edge’s thigh. His arse, as it opened up for the tip of that wet finger. His breath bursting out of him, his hips as they started to rock, and his other hand—all for Edge, even if that hand was trying to push him away. Trying and failing, as approximately twelve percent of effort was being put behind that shove of his. “Wait . . .”

“God, I want to fuck you.”

“I—”

“Feel how much I want it? Feel that?”

“ _Yeaaah_ , but Edge, _Edge_.”

“What?”

“Oh, love, we’ve gotta be strong,” Bono said in that oh-so-familiar way, like he had in the past during such a time, jokingly, even if his eyes were saying something completely different.

“To hell with being strong,” Edge shot back. Just like reading lines from a script. “Why do we always have to be so strong? I want to be weak. Let me be weak.”

“As you fuck me?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not going to fuck me,” Bono claimed just before his eyes rolled back a little in his head, that stuttered gasp making itself known as Edge’s finger hit that perfect spot inside of him. “Oh, shit.”

“Are you so sure about that?”

“I-I thought I was.”

“You’re not leading a very convincing argument right now, B.”

“I know, but we— _ah_ , we had a plan. We had a great fucking plan, remember?”

Edge remembered, although _plan_ wasn’t exactly what he would call it. More of a notion, really. An idea, a blueprint of how their time together might just play out. But Bono was right—it had been a great fucking whatever it was. Something that he was curious to see how it played out. More than curious, actually. God knows he loved any idea that involved his cock going anywhere near Bono’s mouth. In fact, it was the thought of that mouth that kept Edge up at night more than anything else, if he were to be truthful.

Still, he wasn’t going to just let it all slip through his hands that easily. It wasn’t against the rules to tease a little more before doing the right thing. “Alright. We’ll do your thing. In a minute.”

“What? Why? Why in a—”

“I’m not going to fuck you. We’ll do your thing, I promise. But we’re going to stay here for another minute, alright?” It wasn’t a question. They were staying there against the wall for another minute. And the look that crossed Bono’s face told Edge that there wasn’t going to be an argument. It was more than acceptance, it was a _yes_ that was close to being voiced, a _yes_ that was evident in the way that Bono’s hips started to rock again, slowly but with intent, trying and succeeding in drawing Edge’s finger deeper inside of him. “Does that feel good?”

“Mmmm.”

The hand at Edge’s cock had stilled, holding him loosely now, but that was okay. Edge didn’t need it, not yet. He was just content to stand there for that one minute, tasting the skin at Bono’s neck and jaw and then his mouth, sucking on his tongue and kissing him in a way that wouldn’t be forgotten anytime soon, as he worked his finger at a pace that he knew was maddening. He was content to breathe in the way Bono reacted to being fingered, the way he was trying so hard to not give in and start himself down that path of completely falling apart. And it might have been longer than a minute that they stood there by the bathroom door, who could know?

No complaint came from Bono about how long that one minute lasted. No, the only protest arose when Edge withdrew his finger, and it wasn’t a word, just a sound from Bono, one borne of frustration. “You can’t complain,” Edge told him. “You’re the one who didn’t want it to happen.”

“I know.”

“You’re the one who wanted to make it to bed.”

“I _know_ , shut up,” Bono muttered, causing Edge to raise an eyebrow. “I said what I said, and I stand by my stupid fucking decision, so fuck off.”

“You’ve got a bit of an attitude, did you know that?”

Bono tried for a smirk, but didn’t quite get there. “You’re just realizing this now?”

One final interlude came before they could make it to bed, during which Bono almost tripped backward over his open suitcase after clinging to Edge like a man who had just recently concluded that oxygen was no longer the most important thing in life, nor even a necessity at all really.

He was soft in all the right places, hard where it mattered the most, and, as always, Edge relished the opportunity to experience both at the same time. The flesh of Bono’s arse against his palms? Soft. The cock pressing against his hip? All for him and because of him, blessedly hard in a way that often made Edge consider dropping to his knees for two very different reasons. He was a praying man, after all, and a prayer of thanks definitely was required from time to time, because _honestly_.

Something had gone very right in Edge’s life after a few heartbreaking wrongs, and he would gladly spend the rest of his days thankful for that, even when Bono was at his worst. Short tempers and foul moods allowed for Edge to truly appreciate a Bono at his best, and it certainly was a day for appreciation, given what Edge was working with.

Against him, Bono was hard and soft and warm like he’d contracted a fever. He laughed at himself when he almost tripped like he was glad for the chance of taking the piss, especially when it was out of him. He was still smiling when he pulled back to stare at Edge as though a thought had just occurred. “Aren’t you going to ask?”

And there it was, arising far quicker than Edge had theorized. _Yes_ , he wanted to say. _Of course I am. We both know that I just cannot help myself._ And he would bite his tongue just before adding _when it comes to you_ —although Bono’s mind would no doubt hear it anyway—instead finishing up with a heartfelt _tell me_ that would be repeated when all that was revealed was a teasing smile _, tell me, Bono, please, tell me tell me tellmetellmetellme . . ._

“Ask?” Edge said instead like he wasn’t on the cusp of rambling and begging. “About what?”

Bono’s stare turned suspicious for all of half a second, and then it quickly became clear that he had Edge’s number. “About what,” he echoed with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “Is this your new approach? Blatant ignorance?”

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, Bono.”

“Uh huh,” was all Bono responded with before letting the matter drop—for now. How long it would take for him to bring it up again was hard to know exactly, but Edge was pretty confident in assuming Bono would have more stamina on the second run-through of questioning. The anticipation of sex had a way of sapping all attention from his brain. Once that was taken care of his mental gymnastics could go for hours, although sometimes a nap was required beforehand. He was only human.

Somehow, they made it to bed, which was, frankly, a goddamn miracle. Of course, there were expectations in Edge’s mind of how the next hour or so could progress, pretty little pictures that might have been fragments of all that sex that had come before mixed in with fantasies of things they had certainly done, yes, but not from that position or angle or on such a surface. There were so many images cramming together to be noticed, yet his brain was too focused on Bono’s arse as he crawled onto the bed to give good and proper thought to much else.

But when Bono’s arse disappeared out of view due to the simple and somewhat surprising act of him stretching out flat on his back with his head on the pillow, both Edge and his brain were left a little flummoxed.

“What are you doing?”

Bono shrugged. “I’m not doing anything.”

Edge had expected a few different things, sure, but Bono on his back was not one of those things. Yes, it was a good position when he was tired and feeling a bit lazy but still wanted to be fucked—and rarely did Edge care that he was doing most of the work, as those times were few and far in between and he still was fucking Bono—and yes it was certainly an angle that Edge could work with (and had to great success in the past) to achieve what they had planned out, that blueprint of sorts that was more of a notion than anything concrete. On top or from the side or both if he felt like switching it up a little as they went along—yes, Edge could use Bono’s mouth quite easily to get where he needed to be. So what was the problem?

There wasn’t one. Only an idiot would think to find a problem when faced with such a situation.

Sure, he might have pictured Bono on his knees as Edge stood over him, holding his head between his hands as he thrusted into that mouth, and he might even have imagined Bono on his knees again, but kneeling over a sitting Edge who was glad to take control, and he might even have thought about doing away with the whole blowjob business and getting right back to where they had been a few minutes prior by the bathroom door, making it work up against the wall like they’d done in the past. But none of that mattered really, because even if Bono on his back hadn’t appeared in Edge’s weird little mind (and why hadn’t it? It had only been a handful of days since they had done it that way, for Christ sake . . . clearly he was slipping) it was still Bono’s mouth and it was still fucking _delicious_.

“Edge,” Bono said when the silence between them went from thoughtful pause to slightly uncomfortable. “I’m not doing _anything_.”

“Yeah, I got that.”

“Then why are you still over there?”

“I don’t know.”

“Could you perhaps get on the fucking bed?”

Edge got on the bed. “Happy now?”

“I’m drunk with elation, can’t you tell?” Bono’s smile was fond but his gaze was preoccupied with the idea of sex, and Edge was committed to the _you first_ directive, he was, yet still he found himself ignoring it when Bono’s nipple became far too tantalising to overlook a moment longer. And his aim had been to keep it brief, but when that nipple started to harden beneath his mouth Edge figured that he should probably keep at it until the job was fully done, and then move onto the other one. He was, after all, a consummate professional in all the aspects of life that truly counted. 

“Hmmm,” Bono let out at least fifteen seconds later than Edge anticipated he would. “I distinctly remember planning—”

“Not everything needs to be micromanaged,” Edge mumbled against his chest before sitting up just in time to see the glare.

“Don’t you throw my dirty talk back at me.”

“I thought you were supposed to be doing nothing?”

“Do you see me moving?”

“I’m forever seeing your mouth moving. I don’t think that part of you knows how to take a fucking break.”

“I can stop talking.”

“Can you? If that were true, I would have thought I’d seen it happen at least once in my life.” Edge leaned in until they were nose to nose. “You know you even talk in your sleep?” Bono’s only response was to raise his eyebrow. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that.” The corners of his mouth started to tug up alongside that eyebrow. “No, still not getting it. B, you’ve got to _enunciate_.”

“You remember how you came knocking on my door for sex?” Bono shot back with a smirk. “How’s that working out for ya?”

Edge paused. “Well . . .”

“You know, it’s beginning to look like a longshot from my perspective. A distant dream that will never be realised, simply because someone started getting too big for their boots and thought to kick over the sandcastle before the waves could even think to get a look in.”

Again, Edge had to pause, while he let what had just been said roll about in his brain. No doubt it made perfect sense in Bonoland. Actually, it made sense from Edge’s perspective too. Somewhat. He was the waves, and Bono was the sandcastle. No, that wasn’t right. How could he be both the kicker and the waves? Was the sandcastle sex? Why was he pondering this when it was not even in the realm of being weird compared to some of the shit that Bono came up with? Best just to kiss him and hope that got them back on track.

It did. There was a lazy smile on Bono’s face when Edge pulled back to survey the damage, one that stayed as he drew up fully onto his knees and started shuffling toward the head of the bed. A moments deliberation was all he needed to come up with a proper, fully realised plan of how to go about the next few minutes to a good half an hour or longer, if he were to be hopeful. The rest of the day still remained a mystery, however—more sex was going to happen somewhere along the way, Edge was adamant, it just wasn’t something he could readily plan when this first obstacle was all he could see—but it didn’t matter, because he had a plan to work with for their immediate future, and it was a damn good one too.

His skin was close to prickling from the anticipation as he reached for the unused pillow forgotten on the other side of the bed, and his cock . . . well, his cock was well past the stage of prickling, it had been anticipating this and then some for fucking hours. It might have twitched, it might even have leapt for joy at the prospect of being so close to Bono’s mouth, which was a prime vacation spot that it was looking to rent fulltime, or at least visit more than once in a blue moon or what Edge like to think of as a _when the weather is nice and the silence golden and looking to stay that way for the immediate foreseeable future_ type of occasion that recently they had found themselves resigned to encounter only when the roll of the dice displayed a rare dozen.

It was possible that Edge was feeling a little bit giddy to the point where his mind was darting here and there yet somehow still focused on one specific thing—the mouth that was nothing but trouble at the worst of times, yet also managed to do a whole world of good and could sing to boot—a distraction that he was all-too-happy to have draw his thoughts away from the complexities of life. Yes, he had definitely been struck down with that giddy feeling, but who could blame him? And it seemed that it was catching.

Try as he might, and there was no doubt that Bono was trying, he still couldn’t manage to keep that smile from breaking onto the surface, even as the rest of him did absolutely nothing, true to his word. He did lift his head for Edge to slip that second pillow underneath, but that was his only real movement besides the turn of his mouth and his chest rising and falling as he breathed steady breaths that were deceptively calm to the point where Edge might have been insulted in another life, thinking that Bono was apathetic to the whole situation. But that Edge was stupid, or blind, because Bono was also clearly well past the stage of prickling, and if ever there had been a more inviting sight . . .

“Eyes up here, Edge.”

“I’ll look where I please, thank you very much.”

Looking wasn’t really all that Edge wanted to do. One day he was going to discover the secret of cloning and put it to good use, because it was just unfair that he couldn’t currently fuck and suck Bono at the same time whilst also putting that mouth to good use. It was _so_ unfair, and really, science had a lot of explaining to do for not delivering such an opportunity already. The science fiction writers of yesteryear would no doubt be incredibly disappointed to know that modern society had barely begun to scratch the surface of what had been prophesized in books and film.

“I’m more than just a sex object, thank _you_ very much, so can you stop looking at my cock like that’s all I’m good for and come debase me in a way that has been mutually agreed upon by both parties?”

“Debase?” Edge repeated as he turned his attention back to where it was supposed to be. “Great, now I feel like a pervert who is about to corrupt you in the dirtiest way imaginable.”

“Oh, Edge, if this is the dirtiest thing that you can imagine us doing then I feel sorry for you. And also a tad perplexed, as we’ve done far dirtier things together in the past. Remember that night in—”

“Of course I do.”

“You didn’t let me finish.”

“Madrid, right?”

“Ah, Madrid,” Bono said, his voice turning wistful. “Now that was a fun little siesta.”

“Yup.”

“Although we really didn’t get much sleep, did we?”

“Nope.”

“Mmmm, thank you for bringing that one back, it’s a keeper for sure, but it wasn’t the night I was thinking of. It wasn’t even the same year, actually. Or continent. Think further south. _Much_ further south.”

“I was until you told me to stop.”

“Everything is always about sex with you, isn’t it?”

“Not currently.”

“Sydney,” Bono continued as though Edge hadn’t even spoken. “How could you possibly have neglected—”

“Bono?”

“Yes?”

Edge kissed him thoroughly before saying, “Stop talking.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? Is it really that easy?”

“You’re right,” Bono mused. “That was poor form on my part. What I meant to say was make me.”

“That sounds far more believable. But seriously, it’s time to shut up.”

“Make me.”

Edge did. All it took was a kiss that was far less thorough than the previous one, but filled with enough fire to stun Bono into a dreamy little silence, his features softening and his lips curving as he watched Edge shuffle a full ninety degrees until he was in the prime position.

A comment was expected, although he wasn’t sure what—some smartarse quip, perhaps, or more likely a sweet and eager utterance that Edge had heard variations of coming from Bono’s mouth in the past, words that stuck with him and came back when a little pick-me-up was needed. But Bono surprised him by keeping with that silence, right up until the moment Edge’s cock pressed against his lips.

One little groan was all that emerged, cutting through the quiet of the room and standing on its own without a following act. It was all that Edge needed to hear, a tiny ego boost that wasn’t really necessary, given how happy Bono was to be doing what he was about to do. There was no bigger ego boost than that. That one little groan told Edge how wanted he was just as well, if not better, then any words could.

He started off slow, parting Bono’s lips sideways with his cock before gently dragging back and forth, hissing at the first languid brush of a wet tongue. It wasn’t an action that Edge thought fit into the _doing nothing_ scheme that Bono had going on, but he wasn’t going to complain about it. He smiled when their eyes met, and briefly pressed his thumb against the dip beneath Bono’s bottom lip before settling his palm back against the bed, where it stayed for approximately twenty seconds, barely long enough for Edge to work his hips a lazy four or five times, before the need to touch again became too great to ignore.

Bono’s hair was soft between his fingers, and Edge relished the feeling of it over and over as he stroked almost in time with the slow rhythm of his moving hips. There was no hurry. They had the rest of the day, and urgency was not to be found in Edge’s central nervous system, not anymore. That morning he had been close to dancing with need and want that had been all for one man—this man, who didn’t belong to anybody but himself, yet still had given Edge so much of his body and soul that sometimes it felt like he was being shared three ways, and to hell with all those people who also wanted such a piece of him—but now that desire had blossomed into something far less frantic.

There was no hurry. He wanted to be slow and lazy, and make it last. Not only for him, but them both. For Bono, who had smiled at the thought of being used, as he’d dared Edge with that look in his eye to fuck him up. Why rush it when they could make it last? Piece by piece, that was always a good way to take Bono apart. Start off slow, one piece, two, and build up to it, make it count, make it special, just make it however they wanted. They had the rest of the day. They had been given the gift of time. Edge was not going to waste it by rushing ahead, not yet anyway. Maybe later he would find the urge to pick up the pace, who knew? The future was, as always, incredibly bright and promising.

Somehow, Bono was mostly keeping true to his promise of doing nothing. His tongue might have made its way into the picture and stayed, yes, but his hands seemed content to stay out of it, remaining loose against his stomach, although an extended glance caught his fingers briefly dancing like they wanted to do something. To reach out and touch, perhaps. To touch and work at Edge’s cock in that gifted and practised way, as his tongue picked up the pace and his lips turned from slack to firm to determined, all teaming together to get Edge where he needed to be. And maybe all it would take for him to come in Bono’s mouth was the head of his cock being sucked, or just a talented hand, or one finger inside of him, or a combination of all three scenarios.

It could happen however Edge wanted it to, since it was his mind and his mind alone working away to supply such beautiful images and more. Bono’s hands were still lax against his stomach, and they were looking to stay that way. Which was fine. It was exactly how they had wanted it to happen. He was being used, and he looked fucking glad for it, his eyes shining, his cock gloriously hard and neglected, but only for a few minutes longer. That was all that Edge figured he had left in him, the want and need starting to pick up the pace and make themselves known as they turned low in his belly and high in his mind, _pay attention and listen because there is nothing more important than us right now, not even him._

But they were wrong, wrong and self-centred because without Bono there was no them, not in their current manifestation, and he was all that Edge could think to focus on even as the desire to move, to go faster and make it count, started to become a bit demanding.

 There were things that Edge wanted to say, nonsense words that sounded a lot like adoration in his mind. But they died on his lips before he could break that silence between them. Of course, they weren’t necessary. Bono knew. He had known for a long time. Still, Edge wanted to say it again and again. And he would, after, when they would be properly heard and held onto.

Yet when Bono again abandoned his plan, Edge found that he had no choice but to break the silence, letting out a rough, “Ah, fuck,” that probably belonged in a situation where Bono had done more than simply press a gentle kiss against his cock. Urgency was on the outskirts of making a comeback, a return that Edge was starting to get hyped about—he had always been a fan, after all.

He was shifting before he knew it, pulling back only to move forward, his leg coming up and over until he was straddling Bono high against his chest, and the deadly combination of smile and heated look that he received made Edge wish he’d pulled such a move, oh, at least three minutes earlier then he had. Regret was not something he often clung to, however, especially not in such a situation when there was no wrong way to go about it, only right— _so_ much right—and really, why look back when the future was so bright that he would have to wear shades?

“Time to break out the big guns, Edge?”

“No talking,” Edge reminded before guiding his cock forward. “You’re not supposed to be doing anything, remember?” For a few seconds he simply teased them both by rubbing himself against Bono’s cheek and then his mouth, that heated gaze wavering when the head of Edge’s cock dragged his lower lip down to expose his teeth and gums. And then Edge retreated, just long enough for Bono to find his voice.

“How could I forget?”

“You’d think it would be hard, and yet . . .”

Edge pushed ahead before the response could come, effectively shutting Bono up the best way that he knew how. Things were going great, sure, but they could only get better now that they were on the home stretch.

As it was, Bono didn’t seem at all put out by the interruption. In fact, eager was the only way that Edge could think to describe his reaction to it, from the way his eyes closed to how he lifted his head a little to draw Edge’s cock further into his mouth.

That goddamn mouth of his, comprised of lips that were somehow both soft and firm, and a tongue that knew exactly how to handle each and every situation that life could throw its way, but was especially skilled, Edge thought, at moments like this. That tongue was what dreams were made of. And when Bono moaned around him it was a sound and vibration that tumbled through Edge and caught him right where he wasn’t expecting—all over instead of situated deep inside, where he might have almost been able to handle such a feeling.

There was no point trying to hold back or attempt to steady himself when the inevitable was so close to taking over, yet he still tried, grasping the headboard for leverage, for something to hold on to as he took from Bono exactly what he needed. And he kept it slow, so slow, a pace that was lazy but still held a certain rhythm to it, as though they were caught up in their own little rumba set to a beat that was theirs and only theirs, and it was building, building up to the crescendo, and where was the music? It was vibrating right on through him, a moan that was catching, that had him, a roll of his hips, a beat sounding low,  _take me slow dancing_ Bono had whispered in his ear before turning it into a song, and they were, they _were_.

His orgasm rolled through him like thunder on a summer’s night, warming him all over in a way that rain and lightning never could. It was a feeling that lingered, that he wanted to experience for as long as humanly possible, just like any stormy night that he had spent under shade but not alone, and rarely was the scent of ozone more intoxicating than the company that Edge chose to keep during those moments. Thunderstorms, the human orgasm, and Bono—three things that Edge would never tire of experiencing, not as long as he lived. Although it was probably best that he refrain from referring to Bono as a _thing_ out loud, lest he lose the chance to ever experience anything close to this in their immediate future . . .

Slowly, Edge started to move, sliding down until he was straddling Bono’s stomach instead of his chest, and the smile that was on show very nearly caused him to start babbling like a man who exclusively read Harlequin Romance novels. He kissed Bono’s mouth at first, and then his forehead before slumping down until they were sharing the same pillow. There was no rush. They had more than enough time to share the moment while it lasted. Although eventually, it would have to end. There was only so long that Bono could go on like he was before he started to get fidgety. But for now he seemed content to just stay as he was, smiling like he was lost in a daydream as Edge’s thumb stroked the delicate skin beneath his right eye.

“What do you want?” Edge asked only when he figured he should.

Bono’s smile didn’t stray. “You.”

Who needed grand gestures or proclamations of everlasting devotion? Who needed a song written about them, when one word said more than enough? It wasn’t lightning in the clouds above but Edge’s ego, floating straight up and into the heavens after being inflated to the point of no return. If they were lucky, it might still be there when they flew out of the city. It would be nice to point it out to Bono as they passed. “There it goes, B,” Edge would say. “I’m never going to be able to come back down to Earth now, and it’s all your fault. I hope you’re happy.”

And Bono would purr back like the proud cat that he was, “Oh, I am, love, I am.”

With one gentle hand Edge slowly took him to pieces, kissing his jaw before whispering little nonsense things in his ear as he worked, words that Edge forgot the second they left his lips. It was probably for the best—he had no doubt he was being ridiculous. He often was when it mattered the most, but that was okay, because Bono was just as bad sometimes, if not worse. It was, of course, his special brand of ridiculousness that had initially rubbed off on Edge and made him the way that he was, because there had been a time when he was normal, he swore. But those days were lost to the past, and truthfully, Edge wasn’t sorry to leave them behind. Who needed normal? Who needed sleep?

Who needed anything else but this, just this?  

They remained in bed for as long as possible, two lazy heaps naked beneath the covers, watching trashy daytime television until Edge drifted off into an unexpected nap. He awoke feeling utterly disorientated, thinking that up was down and Bono was right there, until up re-emerged as its old self and Bono proved not to be a hallucination, as he was too warm and too close for such nonsense, his eyes narrowing only when Edge started to properly grasp the concept of the living.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Bono replied, before quickly adding, “I cannot believe you haven’t asked again.”

“Asked what?”

“Oh, you’re still playing that hand?”

For a moment Edge just squinted at him, and then it clicked. “When did you expect me to ask? While I was asleep?”

“No.”

“Just now, immediately upon waking?”

“Perhaps.”

“Well, too bad, because I’ve lost interest.”

“Oh, you have not.”

“I have,” Edge insisted. “There comes a point when even _I_ cannot take being teased by you a moment longer, you know? Indifference is all I have left in me. It’s all that’s left of this broken man.”

“Oh, child, what has that bad man done to you?” Bono asked, his voice full of fanciful pity. “Did he make you play one too many games? Did he touch you where he’s not meant to? Does he need to be punished?”

“Why? Are you going to be the one to punish him?”

Bono paused, his expression turning quizzical as he pondered this new development. “Hmm.”

“I really wish you’d stop threatening yourself, Bono. It makes me terribly sad.”

“I didn’t think you could be sad while remaining completely indifferent?”

“I’m not going to ask.”

“Why _not_?”

Edge shrugged. “I’m bored with it.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I think you’ll find I am.”

Bono stared at him for a few long suspicious seconds before heaving out a dramatic sigh. “I think you should call room service.”

“Should I now? I didn’t realize I was your slave.”

“Come on, Edge,” Bono whined. “I’m hungry and you’ve wounded me with your indifference. It’s the least you could do.”

“I could think of a few other things I could do for you that would be far more rewarding,” Edge muttered before dutifully reaching for the phone. “What do you want?”

“Surprise me.”

They ate greasy food in their underwear like a couple of degenerates, Edge pointedly ignoring the looks being thrown his way as he washed it all down with a refreshing bottle of beer. The last few bites he surrendered because he was just that much of a nice guy, clearing away their mess and straightening the sheets around Bono while he finished eating, his gaze never once straying from Edge. _Notice me,_ that look was saying. _Pay attention to me, I’ll give you anything you want as long as you love me._

“What do you feel like watching?” Edge asked after settling back down on the bed with the remote in hand.

“I couldn’t give a single fuck, Edge.”

“You truly speak like a poet sometimes.”

Bono grinned before taking the remote away and tossing it across the bed. “Do you really want to waste such precious alone time together watching television? We could be doing so much more, you know.”

“Oh? What do you suggest?”

“Well . . .” Bono trailed off like he was contemplating their possibilities, even though they both knew his mind had already been made up—far sooner than Edge had expected. “I think you deserve to know, after all that torture.”

“Know what?”

“Did it really drive you insane, me not telling you?”

Edge’s plan had been to string it out a little longer yet, to play the game until Bono started to squirm, but now that he was so close to finding out it just all seemed like too much messing around. Why delay the reveal any longer than he had to? “You know it did.”

“I’m sorry,” Bono said, not looking sorry at all. “Do you want me to put you out of your misery?”

_What a stupid fucking question_ , Edge wanted to say, but didn’t. To do so would be like jumping out of a plane with an umbrella instead of a parachute—eager, yet a huge and obvious mistake. “Yes,” he said instead. “Please.”

“It’s something that I want us to do together.”

Edge hadn’t realized an alternative arrangement had been on the cards. “Okay . . .”

“It’s filthy, Edge.”

“Really?” Edge said, completely aware that he sounded like a pervert but not caring in the least. Filthy was good. Filthy was the absolute dream. “How filthy?”

“ _Pret-ty_ filthy.”

“Kinky?”

“Oh yeah, of course.”

“And we haven’t—”

“No.”

“Really?”

“Never.”

“Tell me,” Edge insisted.

Bono’s smile turned into something that looked a lot like victory, but with a healthy sprinkling of sex thrown in to add a bit of extra shine. He shifted until he was straddling Edge, eyes gleaming, hands roaming. They kissed as he stroked Edge’s arms and then his chest, and when they parted Bono was quick to again lose the distance between them, only this time his lips found Edge’s ear, his voice a teasing whisper as he finally revealed the thing that had been plaguing them both for far too long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic title comes from the 2003 movie of the same name, inspired by that famous ending. I'm not sorry.
> 
> . . . okay, I am a little.


End file.
